


Yeah

by VegaFloyd



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, My First Fanfic, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recovery, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:02:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VegaFloyd/pseuds/VegaFloyd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wasn’t shy. No. His mouth would run its own course regardless of the situation or authority involved. He wasn’t depressed either. In fact, he was pulling himself back together quite nicely - especially when recovery included Derek and a whole universe of things to explore, which turned out to be his one current issue. He, Stiles Stilinski was cock-blocking his boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yeah

**Author's Note:**

> After over ten years of fic readership I decided to post something I've written. There's no plot whatsoever. English is my second language so let me know when I brutalize English grammar. Be kind and constructive in your reviews. Posted without betas or previews (I was too freaking nervours) so I apologize in advance.

Stiles wasn’t shy. No. His mouth would run its own course regardless of the situation or authority involved, the FBI had been a witness to his wit and sarcasm quite a few times. Stiles wasn’t depressed either. Of course, after spending sometime not being yourself and having trouble sleeping for more than a couple of hours one could think his paleness and considerable weight loss might lead to a suicide. Still, he was pulling himself back together quite nicely - especially when recovery included Derek and a whole universe of things to explore, which turned out to be his one current issue.

He couldn’t quite tell how it all started. One night he was at the hospital waking up from a drug induced good night’s rest, and as he forced his eyes open there was Derek, sitting on the chair by his bed, powerful eyebrows softened down by sleep. It took a moment for him to realize Derek wasn’t there to watch over Stiles, because he didn’t care about Stiles, really. He was there to make sure Stiles was indeed Stiles and wouldn’t wake up to break hell loose in the hospital. Again.

As morning came and he was released from the hospital, Stiles didn’t know what to do. He felt all wrong. His brain felt wrong. Scrolling through his phone contacts searching for someone he could call to try and do something – only to realize most people were back at school, faking normalcy – there was Derek again. Actually, there was Hale, Derek saved on his phone. He hadn’t saved it. Frowning at the display, Stiles wondered. Was he supposed to call if something happened? Was he supposed to text, checking in to make sure nothing was wrong? Shrugging he decided to text the number – I mean, why would he call? Not an emergency.

Staring at the keyboard he felt small needles pinching his brains. What would he say? ‘hi’? ‘good morning. How are you?’. His forehead still remembered what the steering wheel felt like and he had no doubt, not for a mere second, Derek could make him feel pain through a simple text. Deciding the obvious was a good place to start, he typed and sent a simple ‘you gave me your number’. A statement that implicitly asked for signs of brain damage.

Five long minutes later, a whole lot of staring into nothing and walking around his bedroom, moving small things around, there came the answer: just in case. Now, this he could do. He was good at extracting answers from someone. ‘In case of what? A tsunami?’

Sending the word before his brain could filter the message, Stiles sudden realized. A Japanese word. Of course he would pick a Japanese word. Not earthquake, tornado, flood, hail. But a freaking Japanese word. Sighing in frustration and feeling his chest grow cold as Derek took his sweet time (why was it taking it so long? Does he own one of those old actual keyboard cell phones?), Stiles rubbed his palms against his face.

‘In case you needed any help.’

That didn’t say much but if one thing was clear, he wasn’t about to push himself on this one. He really didn’t want to risk bringing some dormant knowledge of Japanese words to the conversation anymore. Hell, he could probably take a break from all things Japanese. Until school tomorrow, where he’d face Kira and, fine, she wasn’t really Japanese but slanted eyes, dude.

Putting his rambling brain aside, Stiles went downstairs. A chess board on the coffee table.

 ***

A few days later Stiles was parking at the supermarket - he couldn’t eat much but his dad was adamant he was to put on some weight and to do so he had to restock – when he noticed the Camaro. Not that you could not notice the black monster of a car. Shrugging, he went inside. This was going to be interesting. Strolling through the aisles and trying his best to pick something that could appeal to his palate, Stiles found Derek at the produce section, the older man staring at an eggplant as if it would harm him just by being there.

‘It tastes like feet, but you don’t have to make it feel guilty about it, man.’

Derek didn’t move a single facial muscle as he put the eggplant back. Stiles thought the man would just turn around and completely ignore him.

‘My mom had this recipe.’

Okaaay. Yeah that deserved and okaaaay. Derek never talked about his family, let alone his mom, not to Stiles, not to his former pack, not even Peter. And there he was, supplying Stiles with information. He should have known better.

‘Can you tell when they’re good for cooking?’

Staring down at the produce stand, it was clear that teaching the kids to pick produce or how to make eggplants edible was not something Talia accomplished, the possibility burnt to ashes way before its time.

‘I don’t know about eggplants but I can make lasagna. That’s what I’m making tonight’.

Derek looked up at Stiles, hope vaguely clear in his eyes and surprise etched around his mouth. Not to let the silence grow into an awkward pause he added.

‘In case you want to…come over...For dinner. I mean. Tonight.’

‘Ok’.

‘Ok?’

‘Ok’.

‘Ok, then. I’ll let you eye-murder the tomatoes.’

Gripping the basket tightly, Stiles wasn’t quite sure what the hell had just happened. Supernatural be damned that was just weird. And now he had lasagna to make.

Dinner that night hadn’t been all weird. Joining his dad in the living room to watch the game and falling asleep on Derek’s shoulder was. Even more weird was the fact that he woke up in his own bed, seven hours later and his dad never brought the subject up next morning.

*** 

Looking at his hands, Stiles could still remember the feel of Derek’s lips when they first kissed. It wasn’t a romantic kiss. Hell, it couldn’t even feature as a margin note on the history of first kisses. They had been running, not fleeing, just running to help tire his body out so he could fall asleep more easily. At the time that felt like one of his worst ideas ever, sweat dripping from his nose onto his shoes, his legs burning and his lungs fighting for air.

‘I…can’t…no more…please.’

Smirking at the frail-like teenage Derek walked up to Stiles.

‘Breathe, Stiles.’

Standing up straight as Derek corrected his posture with a firm hand on his shoulder, Stiles pulled some air into his lungs, nodding frantically as it got marginally better. And then things became surreal. Edward Munch level of surreal. Derek was holding his face with both hands and kissing him. Digging his fingers into the man’s shirt Stiles brain tried for a very brief second to process things soon shutting down as Derek’s tongue asked slowly licked his bottom lip, asking for more.

***

It was like a non-verbal agreement. They would share a meal somewhere, Derek would kiss Stiles to an inch of his life, sometimes slowly, sometimes a little more heated. They started talking about things – Stiles pressed them to talk about things. Personal things, things that hurt to remember. There were tears and comforting hugs and sometimes more kissing.

John never questioned how Derek became a regular for dinner, but he did raise his eyebrows to the fact Stiles would asleep all through the night after falling asleep on Derek’s shoulder and then his lap. Eventually, Stiles told Scott, when the texting and the smiles became more frequent.

And the sex. Oh the sex. What could one ever say about sex with Derek Hale? So so frightening.

Stiles wasn’t a coward. No, and he most certainly wasn’t frigid either, the amount of erections Derek provoked and his regular jerking off sections to thoughts of Derek were more than enough to prove it. So when they got too worked up, bodies clad in jeans rubbing against each other on the couch or against the Camaro (judge away old frigid neighbors, he was making out with Derek freaking Hale), when Derek’s hand slowly made its way towards the front of his jeans, Stiles would freeze.

He would freeze and Derek would look into his eyes firmly and tell him to relax and to let go. Derek would pepper his lips with small kisses while his hand worked a tight grip up and down Stiles’ dick. Having an orgasm due to someone else’s control over his body, no, not someone else, Derek’s, Derek’s hands on him was frightening until it wasn’t. Until he’d whisper soft pleas of ‘touch me’ into Derek’s ears, or flat out demand ‘make me come’ before biting the man’s shoulders.

And that was about the size of it. He wouldn’t reciprocate and he didn’t ask for more. Derek didn’t push him, never suggested, never asked. Stiles thought he was being nice at first. Then he assumed it was an age thing. And it became totally weird when Derek would get up and finish himself off in the bathroom or just breathe deeply into his shoulder and press his probably aching erection, adjusting himself into his pants. It felt like he had resigned his right to an orgasm and that just sadden Stiles even more.

Some part of him wanted Derek coming his brains out, dreamed and fantasized about it. He just didn’t know how to make it happen. He, Stiles Stilinski was cock-blocking his boyfriend and afraid of talking about it. Supernatural and surreal couldn’t top that in a thousand years. He had to do something about it.

Closing his locker resolutely, he made up his mind. He would drive over to Derek’s and either go all the way or…go home guilty and frustrated with himself only to find out Derek had burst of sexual frustrations and his remains had been found by local teenagers. No. This would end this afternoon.

Leaving his keys on the hook by the door (yeah, Derek had given him a copy, deal with it), Stiles toed off his shoes and realized Derek was nowhere to be seen, the man was probaly out or asleep. Approaching the bedroom (so far out of limits), and pushing open the door, Stiles was presented with the most marvelous of all sights: Derek Hale, half-naked. He was breathing lightly, his strong chest moving up and down, his perfectly sculpted abs clenching lightly, two well shaped legs slightly apart.

‘You’re staring Stiles.’

Squeaking like he will never admit, Stiles cursed loudly, making Derek smirk.

‘You’re an ass.’ He said, fighting his blush.

‘Come to bed.’

Turning his eyes quickly over to Derek’s, he saw the extended hand and the hopeful look on his face.

‘Wait…you want me to-?’

‘I want you to strip and get in bed with me Stiles. Just like that.’

Nodding slowly, repeating in his head he could do this, Stiles removed his socks, his jeans and shirts. When he was close enough, he took Derek’s hand, which was still extended. Grabbing Stiles’ fingers, Derek brought it to his lips, sucked on his tips, lightly, making Stiles heart race speed up a bit. Tracing his throat with the tips of those long fingers, Derek exhaled loudly.

He placed Stiles palm flat on top of his heart and let the boy feel, how strong, how fast his own heart was beating, which Stiles acknowledge verbally. Staring into each other’s eyes, there was so much left unsaid and yet that simple skin-on-skin connection was enough to send a whole wave of thrill and warmth through their bodies. Stiles nodded, raising his palm on the man’s chest until only his fingertips were touching Derek’s skin again.

‘Stiles.’

‘I know.’

Derek simply held Stiles’ hand as it moved lower, using his heart beat as a guide of how much the boy could take. Gently they traced the curves of his abs, his navel, the light hairs leading to his boxers. White boxers, Stiles thought. Who would guess Derek would wear white underwear?

Letting his fingers do what he hadn’t dear so far, Stiles traced Derek’s rapidly thickening cock over the underwear, fingers shaking a bit. He placed his hand flat down on the beautiful erection (he was the one making it happen, it was beautiful) cupping it softly. He heard Derek’s gasp and felt his hand weaken its hold on his own. Moving his hand a little, he watched Derek’s chest arch lightly, his abs move more deeply and his teeth bite into his bottom lip, powerful eyebrows coming together in concentration – his hand stroking through the material.

Feeling bolder by the second, Stiles placed one knee on the mattress for better support and bent down to kiss Derek right on the lips, catching that poor bottom lip between his own. Derek’s hands were stronger on his again, eagerly pressing down and eliciting movement. Moving his hand of his own volition and to the speed and strength he desired, Stiles slapped at Derek’s hand.

‘I got it, I got it.’

Derek didn’t let go then, instead he took Stile’s hand to his mouth and licked at it thoroughly. Moaning a strangled ‘oh my God’, Stiles regained control over his hand and bright it down to Derek’s dick once more.

‘Stiles.’ He didn’t need to say more, Stiles knew what he wanted.

‘Yeah I-I’m on it.’

Straddling Derek’s hips, Stiles shoved his hands into his boyfriend’s boxers, wrapping his fingers in a tight grip around the erection working it firmly with a flick of his wrist. Derek’s hips lifted off the bed, his hands grabbing at the comforter, a strong growl erupting from his chest.

At that moment, it all fell back into place, Stiles felt something loose inside his chest, elation and accomplishment washing through him. Scratching at Derek’s chest, he felt the man’s hot palms on his hips, claws scratching but not hurting his skin, half-lidded eyes focused solely on him. Moving his hands at a faster pace, Stiles feels Derek starts thrusting into his wrist, increasing friction and the volume of the growling in the bedroom.

‘Derek.’ Stiles brought his mouth once more to Derek’s mouth, kissing him hungrily.

‘Going to…Stiles…I’m…’

Stiles put some distance between them, eyes sparkling with challenge as he barred his throat. Derek sat up quickly bringing his teeth lightly over the long pale column as he growled lowly, coming all over his chest, Stiles’ hand and chest.

Kept in place by Derek’s strong hold, Stiles felt him breath harshly, his teeth going slack around his neck. Derek looked right into his eyes, so much affection, so much. Stiles smiled.

‘Yeah.’


End file.
